THE THINNEST THREAD
by JennyLB
Summary: Their latest person of interest, the perfect all-American CEO of a securities company, has Finch, Carter, and Fusco rushing to save John's life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The New Suit

John Reese was a little later than normal. Harold Finch expected at any moment for him to come sauntering into the library where they had set up their base operations of helping people in peril. Harold continued glancing at his watch. Each sound caused him to look up to see if John would be coming forward, perhaps carrying a pink box of glazed donuts or two cups of Chai Tea with the strings from the bags blowing backward as he walked. He only allowed himself to look up because the analytical side of his brain knew that each of those sounds was in fact not his partner.

Still no Reese.

Finch wanted to dial him but hesitated, recalling how Reese had been acting lately.

Reese had always needed a little extra time to recover from cases involving abused women. Memories of Jessica were still too fresh.

Today, Finch needed Reese at the top of his game. A new number had come in, and past experience proved that in each case, time was always of the essence.

Then he heard the familiar footsteps. He needn't look up to confirm. He could feel John's presence without a visual confirmation. Continuing to look at his computer monitor, he didn't want John to know that he had been concerned.

Reese stood before him with his customary physical distance and folded arms. "New number?"

"And good morning to you, too, Mr. Reese," Finch answered.

"Yes, morning," Reese responded. He had intentionally left out the _good_ because he hoped Finch would hear it as an understood. There was very little about the morning that had been good, so he omitted it from his response.

The two men nodded at each other.

Reese had awakened that morning to pain reeling from the fight he had had with the ex-husband of their latest case. Even though Reese had ultimately won, the ex had gotten in a few good blows. Clad only in a bath towel and looking at his body in his bathroom's full-length mirror, Reese had mumbled to himself that he was getting too old for beat-downs of that nature. He had known he was running late and that Finch would be worried, but he had still decided not to rush against the clock. He had reasoned that Finch would call if a new number had come up and he was needed immediately.

The woman from the case he had just wrapped up had looked eerily similar to Jessie. He had allowed her to kiss him as a thank you as she boarded the Greyhound bus. His heart felt as though it had burst as he watched the bus head down the street and out of sight. Standing statuesque on the street unable to move, Reese felt as if he had just said goodbye to Jessie all over again. As his mind slowly awakened, he began to feel the cold air smashing into his face. He fought against the temptation to go to the bar and down whiskey until he felt the nothingness again.

Back at his apartment, he had allowed himself to actually feel the pain of Jessie's loss as he tended to his head wound and iced his hand. So the morning after, this morning, he hadn't been able physically and emotionally to get out of bed and rush to the library. He had needed a little extra time to allow his emotions to settle; the physical pain would take care of itself.

"Yes, a new number. It came in early this morning," Finch stated. He wanted John to offer a reason for his tardy or to confide in him that he was struggling with his emotions from the case they closed yesterday, but typical John Reese came into play. He stood towering above Finch's feeble frame with his usual stoic facial expression.

Finch got up and shuffled over to the glass wall where he had taped up the picture of their latest number. Reese followed him.

"This is Avery Dodson, President and CEO of Vestidge Securities Company," Finch stated as he turned to look at John to gauge his attention.

John seemed to be paying complete attention, which was rare, Finch thought.

As John turned to look at Finch as an encouragement for him to communicate the background information in a timelier manner, Finch could see the physical remnants of their last case on John's face and hands. John bore slight dark bruising under his right eye, bruised knuckles, and a jagged wound on his forehead near his hairline. Finch could see that Reese had actually tried to conceal the wound by allowing his hair to come down on his forehead more than usual.

Becoming aware that Finch was looking at his wounds, Reese uncomfortably stepped back and took a seat at the table near the wall, continuing to look up at the picture taped on the glass and the strings leading to papers detailing information about Mr. Dodson. "Who wants to hurt a president of a medium-sized securities company?" Reese asked, forcing Finch to look back at the wall and away from his injuries.

"Why I don't know. That's your job, Mr. Reese," Finch bantered.

Reese shot Finch a quick smile, which relieved Finch that his partner was coming back to his usual self—albeit his usual self was also not too easy for normal people to be around.

But Harold Finch was certainly no normal man.

And that's why the two men made a perfect team.

"So, I think you should infiltrate Vestidge Securities Company. I've made the necessary arrangements for you to meet with Mr. Dodson as a potential client. As John Hammond, you are looking for a new company to invest your money," Finch said.

"What time's my appointment?" Reese asked.

"You have a 2:30. I'll have a new suit for you. You certainly can't go in your present condition."

The familiarity of this interaction made John feel settled and grounded. Often the cases, particularly ones where he had to work undercover, messed with his mind. He had spent so many years being so many other people that he truly didn't know who the real John was any longer. Through helping people on their cases, Finch had been helping him become reborn into a man with a real purpose, a good purpose. But at this moment, having not fully recovered from the emotions of the last case, Reese was ready to be John Hammond, taking a little time away from being John Reese.

The two partners continued to work, researching Avery Dodson and Vestidge Securities Company, building a complete identity for John Hammond, and looking into the backgrounds of Dodson's family, friends, and associates. To Finch and Reese, Avery Dodson was the perfect American citizen and man.

From his digital footprint, it appeared that Avery Dodson was a happily married father of two children, was a devout Catholic, and was a member of the Ruritans, the PTA, and the local country club. He paid his bills and taxes on time, borrowed no money, had a perfect credit score, was an active donor to various charities, coached his daughter's basketball team and his son's soccer team, and competed every year in a triathlon.

His wife's pure-bred American life mirrored her husband's. She drove the proverbial minivan, visited her parents once a week, led a Girl Scout troop, and volunteered at the free clinic. The family's recent Christmas photo showed all four of them dressed in light denim jeans and matching Christmas sweaters sitting with their arms draped around one another beaming from ear to ear with smiles that showed their perfect white teeth as they sat on Flexible Flyer sleds amongst fluffy cotton puffs serving as snow.

"Gee, this guy's a saint," Finch said.

"This family can't be for real," Reese answered. Turning the Christmas picture around to show Finch, Reese jested, "They're a caricature of themselves, Finch. No family is this White Bread."

Finch snickered at Reese's word choice. "Even the Dodson family dog is immaculately groomed."

Shaking their heads, they both went back to their research.

Dodson's employees had never filed a complaint, and many had been with the company for at least 10 years. Pictures of company banquets showed a festive and well-adjusted workplace. His employees varied in ages, were a mixture of backgrounds and races, and were straight, gay, bisexual, and transsexual. From the outset, Vestidge Securities Company truly was an equal opportunities employer.

There was no single detail out of sync.

In frustration, Reese finally said, "Maybe The Machine got it wrong this time." He knew The Machine was never wrong, but the words had left his mouth before he could stop them.

Finch didn't need to bother answering. He looked up from his monitor and gave John his usual condescending look when John would say something ignorant.

To Finch, John Reese was a reasonably intelligent man, but he wasn't knowledgeable of how The Machine worked. Finch knew Reese had pried into his business and The Machine, but he hadn't yet been able to understand The Machine's intelligence and exactly how it was able to make decisions and identify its numbers.

"I just don't get it," Reese continued. "Why Dodson? He's about as All-American as you can get."

"The Machine makes no mistakes. There is something. The Machine can connect malevolence from even the thinnest thread of someone's life. You and I may not be able to see it…yet, but The Machine does. It's never wrong. We just have to find that thread. Once we do, then we understand the case. Keep reading, Mr. Reese," Finch instructed.

Observing his friend for several additional moments after his response, Reese's eyes dropped down to the papers he was holding and continued reading.

A little later, Finch could see Reese's eyes getting heavy. He wondered if Reese had buried his emotions in alcohol the evening before. He knew that the young woman was too similar to Jessica, which caused Reese to lose his objectivity. She had been the one planning her ex-husband's murder, but Reese had refused to turn her in to Carter and Fusco. Instead, he purchased a bus ticket, gave her $5,000, and sent her on her way. Telling Finch he had no regrets and that he didn't want further conversation about his actions, Reese then stated that he was heading home for the rest of the day and not to call him unless there was an emergency. Finch wanted Reese to talk to him, but, being a very private man himself, he understood why Reese wanted to be alone.

"Here," he said as he thrust a small piece of paper with an address scribbled on it toward Reese, "Go pick up your new suit. It's ready for you."

John put down the papers, got up from his chair without saying anything, and took the paper from Finch's hand.

"Grab some lunch for us while you're out," Finch yelled toward John's back as he made his way to the exit.

Without turning around, John held up his hand to acknowledge that he heard Finch's request. Finch went back to his computer monitor, trying to piece together every single detail that had caused The Machine to identify Avery Dodson as their latest number. Sometimes he wouldn't come to know until John did his part, which is why Harold Finch had come to rely very heavily on his new partner. While he and Nathan had been long-time friends and he had counted on Nathan to serve as the company beard, he needed John Reese far more. He had actually come to regard his new partner as a friend as well, which had surprised the very closed and private Harold Finch.

A little later he heard the familiar entrance of Reese. He was ready for a lunch break.

"Discover that thread while I was gone?" Reese asked.

"Still digging. I see you got your new suit and deli sandwiches, eh?" Finch asked, allowing a grin to cross his mouth.

John draped his new suit still in the garment bag over the chair in the corner. He then handed Finch the bag of food, allowing Finch first dibs on his sandwich of choice. He knew Finch would select the turkey on croissant, though. He always selected the turkey on croissant. John, on the other hand, wasn't selective over the type of meat or bread. He still used food for its intended purpose: to keep his body fueled. For Finch, however, food was always an experience. John had come to realize that all wealthy people were like that.

They ate quickly, speaking very little. Finch had wanted to ask John how he was doing, but he knew that John preferred to move on. Seeing John ball up the brown sandwich wrapping and put it in the bag along with his other trash, Finch motioned toward the garment bag. "Go try it on so I can make sure that the cuffs are right," Finch instructed.

John got up and left the room with the garment bag. He came back a few minutes later clad in the new suit.

"I told him to make sure the pant legs would break at the front of your shoe and approach the top of your heel at the back. Did you even try on the suit at the shop?"

Reese was taken aback by the question. No, he hadn't tried it on. He wore suits all the time, so there shouldn't be such a fuss about this one. He knew Finch would be uptight about the break and heal, but he had never seen the difference between Finch's obsessive, nit-picky tailored suits and his own. They looked the same to him.

Finch could see from Reese's face that he couldn't tell the difference between his off-the-rack suits and Finch's custom tailored suits. Typical government employee, Finch thought to himself. "Just stand there," Finch directed in an exasperated tone as he shuffled over to the box he used for sewing materials.

Finch having that box amused Reese, but he had always respected how industrious his employer was.

Eyeballing several spools of thread against the grey pants, Finch was finally satisfied that he had the exact color to make an adjustment in Reese's pants so Reese could satisfactorily pull off being the wealthy businessman, John Hammond.

Reese stood still as Finch made adjustments to the bottom of the pants. This situation was not new to the two of them. Finch had altered just about every new pair of pants Reese wore when he was going undercover as a wealthy man.

"Satisfied?" Reese asked as Finch put the needle and spool of thread away in the box.

"Why, yes I am," he answered. "You should probably get going in the next few minutes. Wealthy businessmen are never tardy."

Reese nodded to Finch, taking his wallet from the pocket of the suit jacket he wore coming to work that morning and slipping it into the breast pocket of his new grey suit.

"Did you get John Hammond's identifications and family photos I put on the table?"

Reese looked around to where Finch was pointing and saw that they were still sitting there. "Rhetorical question?" Reese smirked.

Finch smiled.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: All-American Man

John arrived a good 30 minutes early for his appointment with Avery Dodson at Vestidge Securities Company. He decided to use the spare time poking around the building, sizing up the employees, and deciding for himself if Mr. All-American truly ran the All-American securities company it appeared to be. As he looked up, John could see a young woman sitting behind a desk looking at him. He smiled at her and waited for her to return the smile as his queue to approach her.

She smiled back immediately.

John walked over to her desk. "Hi. I'm John…John Hammond," Reese announced.

"Cynthia Greenfield," the young lady responded.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Dodson, and I thought I'd look around to see what kind of company this really was before I put all my money in your hands…not that they're not fully capable hands," Reese said in a soft tone as he held onto her hand a little longer than a usual handshake. He had turned on the charm, and it was working.

Cynthia blushed a little, allowing her hand to stay within his large hand. Even though the grey on his temples told her that this gentleman standing before her was older than she, she found him quite attractive. His chiseled facial bone structure, his striking blue eyes, his olive completion, and his tall stature made him look like a movie star to her.

"Have the time to show me around some?" Reese asked.

Cynthia looked back at her computer monitor. Even though she was up against a deadline to have information ready for a meeting later that evening, she wanted to make time for this handsome gentleman. Mr. Dodson would have wanted her to drop her work and help a potential client.

"Oh…okay…" Cynthia said as she nervously got up from her chair.

Together they walked around the tastefully decorated company. Employees throughout the building busily worked on their computers or talked on their phones. The Degas, Renoir, Monet, and other lesser known early Impressionist paintings perfectly framed the building, causing Reese to feel what he saw in the research earlier that day: Vestidge Securities was just as perfect as its CEO. The company appeared to be alive and vibrant. And it certainly didn't appear to have any threats lurking around.

John wasn't quite sure where to start, but at least he had Cynthia. "So, do your friends call you Cynthia?"

"No…CeCe. I know it's silly, so I don't start off business conversations introducing myself as CeCe."

"I think it's nice," John responded.

Cynthia blushed again and smiled broadly up at him, locking eye contact for a few seconds longer than she normally looked at potential clients.

"It's getting close to 2:30. I certainly don't want Mr. Dodson to think I would stand him up. Can you take me to him?"

"Certainly," Cynthia answered. She liked that Mr. Dodson would know that she went beyond the call of duty for a potential client, but she relished the time she was spending with this charming gentleman. She caught herself feeling like a giddy schoolgirl, but she just couldn't seem to help herself. Vestidge Securities Company didn't get too many gorgeous and charming gentlemen like John Hammond.

As they approached Avery Dodson's office, his secretary was sitting at her desk entering information from a stack of paper into the computer. The secretary was much older than Cynthia and appeared to be the no-nonsense type as she continued working despite the fact that the two of them stood before her. She had to at the very least have felt their presence.

Clearing her throat, Cynthia stated, "Miss Littlepage…this is John Hammond. He has a 2:30 appointment with Mr. Dodson."

"I'll buzz him. Thank you Mrs. Greenfield," the secretary responded, nodding at Cynthia and acknowledging John with a quick nod as she went back to her papers and keyboard.

Cynthia continued to stand closely to John, feeling drunk with joy as she breathed in his masculine scent.

The secretary picked up the phone and pushed down a button. "Mr. Dodson, your 2:30 appointment is here," she said, paused for a moment, and then put the receiver back in its cradle. "He'll be with you in just a moment. Please take a seat, Mr. Hammond. May I get you a cup of coffee?" she offered as she smiled at John.

Before John could answer, the secretary spoke again, "Mrs. Greenfield, is there anything else you need?"

"Oh, no," Cynthia answered. She appeared embarrassed as she nervously backed away from John.

John turned toward her and smiled. "CeCe, thank you for your time today. You have been most gracious. I'll be sure to mention that to Mr. Dodson." John reached forward and took her hand, giving it a little flirtatious squeeze.

Miss Littlepage shook her head as she thought to herself, "This foolish girl—_married_ foolish girl— was clearly made stupid by the charms of this man."

John, too, could tell that Cynthia was attracted to him, and he needed all help he could get penetrating the perfection of this company, or as Finch would say, finding that thread.

"That will be all Mrs. Greenfield," the secretary said, stressing the _Mrs._ in her name.

John let loose of her hand and watched as she headed to the elevators back to her desk near the front entrance of the building. As the elevator doors opened, John watched Cynthia as she turned back to get another look at him. They both smiled at one another as if they had a secret between them.

John took a seat near the secretary's desk. It wasn't quite 2:30, and he figured he could use the time to get to know the one person at the company who was probably the closest to Avery Dodson.

"You worked here long?" he asked.

"10 years," the secretary responded without taking her eyes off the papers she was reading to type into the computer.

Looking around her office, it was apparent that Miss Littlepage wasn't married and had no close friends or relatives. Her only framed pictures were of her cats. She looks like a cat person, John thought to himself. She's probably not half as old as she looks, John continued surmising. When she got up to go and retrieve another file, John noticed that her frumpy dress made her look rotund and bland. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun with slick spray holding it into place. This one was certainly going to be a lot harder to charm, John thought. His thoughts were then interrupted by Avery Dodson's door opening up, and he saw another gentleman emerge from inside the office and shake hands with Dodson as they stood in the doorway of his office.

The two men exchanged a few more pleasantries while John got out his phone and discreetly snapped a picture of the man and sent it to Finch.

"Suspect?" John texted to Harold as the caption to the man's picture.

"Will look into it," Harold texted back.

John slipped his phone back into his breast pocket.

After the man had walked away, Avery Dodson looked down and smiled at John, who was still sitting in the chair near Miss Littlepage's desk. "Mr. Hammond?" he asked.

"Yes," John answered, holding out his hand as he stood up.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I appreciate your considering Vestidge Securities to manage your affairs," Dodson said.

"Thank you for your time on such short notice," John stated.

"It is certainly my pleasure. I hope you had a pleasurable trip from…let me remember…Maryland," Dodson answered.

"Yes," John answered. This man uses the word _pleasure _quite a lot, John thought to himself.

"Come on in," Avery said as he gestured his arms for John to go into his office. "Miss Littlepage, please bring us some drinks. Scotch?" he asked as he looked at John.

"Certainly," John answered. He hated to drink on the job, but he knew that it was proper etiquette for businessmen to share a drink together. He had scaled back his drinking significantly since coming to work for Finch, and he liked keeping it that way.

"Scotch," Mr. Dodson said to Miss Littlepage as he closed the door behind him.

A few moments later, Miss Littlepage brought a bottle of The Macallan single malt scotch whiskey into the office on a tray with two shot glasses.

This guy doesn't fool around, John thought.

Dodson poured two glasses and handed one to John. "Here's to a possible partnership," Dodson said as he held up his glass.

John held up his glass and took the shot in one gulp. It was smooth and warm as it ran down his throat to his stomach. He wasn't used to such fine alcohol. There truly was a difference between The Macallan and the Grant's Scotch Whiskey he used to drink when living on the streets before Finch. He had thought during that time that he would die at the figurative hands of Grant's Whiskey. But Finch had saved him.

The two men sat together in Avery's office talking about one another's life. John Hammond was equally the All-American man Avery Dodson was. Each had children and doting wives. Each was wealthy and finely dressed. Each enjoyed The Macallan Scotch.

As they chatted, John thought about how different his life could have been had he not reenlisted after 9-11. He was on his third shot of The Macallan when thoughts of Jessie seeped into his mind. He and Jessie could have had a life similar to Hammond's. Not a wealthy life, him being military and she being a nurse, but an All-American life together nonetheless.

There were times that he wished he had died.

There were times when he thought he would die.

There were times he thought he was dead.

But now, during his time with Finch, he was beginning to feel again. He was beginning to come alive again. Sometimes, he would catch himself feeling happiness again, an emotion he hadn't felt in many years.

"So, how does a man of your position get into a scuffle?" Dodson asked, pointing to Reese's injuries on his face and hand.

"Guilty pleasure," Reese answered.

"What's that?"

"Bare-Knuckle Boxing. My wife, Jeannine, hates it, but I can't help myself. Been doing it since college."

Dodson looked at John with an inquisitive look.

"I know, not the civilest of sports, but I'm hopelessly addicted to it."

Dodson smiled. "I hear you. My wife hates that I participate in the occasional mid-night bowl with the gang here."

John smirked as he tried to picture Avery Dodson renting dirty, used bowling shoes from the Brooklyn Bowl. He imagined that Dodson's wife made him fumigate his clothes and body before entering their home.

"I'm not sure which vice is worse," Reese laughed.

Dodson poured each of them another shot.

Reese was beginning to feel the affect of the alcohol. He wasn't sure how much longer he could drag out the conversation. Nothing was happening; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Perhaps The Machine really was wrong this time.

"Why don't you join us this evening?" Dodson asked.

"Join you where?"

"Dinner meeting with some shareholders. You look like a man who enjoys meetings… especially with stiff, stuffy securities shareholders," Dodson joked.

"Absolutely," Reese answered.

"You'll get a full depiction of Vestidge," Dodson said.

Reese nodded. He needed some time and several bottles of water to get the Scotch out of his head so he could be at the top of his game.

"You weren't planning on returning home tonight were you?"

"No, I'm all yours. Sounds like a plan. Is there somewhere I can go to freshen up?"

"Yes, we have an exercise room and bathroom with shower downstairs. I'll alert the group that you'll be joining us. It will be great doing business with you, Mr. Hammond," Dodson said.

"John," Reese interrupted. "Call me John, okay…partner?"

"It will be a pleasure working with you John," Dodson said. Avery Dodson was ecstatic to have sealed the deal so quickly. Usually clients of John Hammond's caliber were longer and more difficult to get.

John could tell that Dodson was excited to have his business. He felt bad that it was all a farce. "Okay, I'll be back up in an hour." As he left, he could see Dodson getting on the phone to tell of his good fortune with the shareholders.

John sat on the bench downstairs outside the exercise room. He needed to check in with Finch but wanted his mind to be clearer from the Scotch. Going to the bathroom to wash his face, Reese thought some cold water would help. He patted his face with the water and used his hands as a scoop to sip water from them. He drank several gulps. The bruising under his eye hurt a little as he patted his face. Feeling the pain caused his mind to flash back on the man who had landed his fist under John's eye.

It was the ex-husband who turned out to actually be the victim and not the perpetrator in that case. Knowing that his job was to keep harm from the ex-husband, he exploded with rage when he learned that the man had victimized his wife for years before she filed for divorce and tried to start a new life. The ex-husband just couldn't leave well enough alone, so he casually showed up at the diner where she waitressed or the Laundromat where she washed her clothes. All she wanted was to start over, and his passive-aggressive tactics of late were unnerving to her. Whatever fate befell on him was _Just Deserts_ as far as Reese was concerned.

Then he felt conflicted by what he knew he should do in his present role and what he wanted to do as an instinct from his previous life. He did what he thought was overall the right thing to do. Beat and threaten the ex-husband until he cried for mercy and get the woman on a bus as far away from him as possible. Reese knew that Finch didn't approve, so he told Finch to drop the subject and close the case.

Going back to the bench, Reese sat down and dialed Finch. "Any new developments?"

Finch was still tracing all leads. "Not yet," he answered.

"How about the picture I sent you?"

"That's Layton Griffen. I'm still tracking down what connection he might have to our Avery Dodson. Nothing is popping right now," Finch answered.

"So what you're saying is that we're still no closer to finding the threat than we were this morning?" Reese asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Don't worry Mr. Reese. I will uncover the thread that identifies the perpetrator. You just do your job and I'll do mine."

"I'm joining some of the shareholders at their dinner meeting here at Vestidge this evening. Have you looked into them? Yes…but did you say a shareholders dinner tonight?"

"Some of them…apparently," Reese answered.

"This is not the regularly scheduled monthly shareholders meeting, Mr. Reese."

John could hear Harold tapping away at his keyboard.

"There are a total of 17 shareholders." Finch went silent and continued to type. "Oh," he spoke after a several minute pause. I can see intersections of time at least once a month for five of them for the past nine months. Why do you suppose five of them get together without the other 12?"

John didn't answer. He knew the puzzle was exhilarating to Finch.

"I think perhaps you have just discovered the thread," Finch excitedly answered.

"I better get back upstairs to Dodson, then," Reese stated, "before the five of them get here." He turned to head to the elevators still on the phone with Finch, who was giving him the name and some background information about each of the five shareholders. As he stood there waiting for the elevator doors to open continuing to listen to Finch, he felt the electric jolts before seeing anyone or before losing his ability to stand. He likened the pain to that of being struck by lightning. As he fell incapacitated to the floor, his phone went flying across the floor, being stopped by a pair of Louis Vuitton waxed alligator black leather shoes.

The man connected to the Louis Vuittons walked up to John's back and pushed his shoe into his shoulder to turn John onto his back so he could get a good look at the man he just tasered. John could make out two forms standing above him.

"Do you know who he is?" a voice asked.

John didn't hear the answer before being tasered again and falling unconscious.

They could hear the muffled sounds of Finch's voice as he continued to shout loudly into the phone as it lay under the Louis Vuitton shoe of the man holding the Taser Gun.

Then all went silent for Finch as the Louis Vuitton man stomped on Reese's phone.

"This can't be good," Finch said aloud to himself. He then quickly dialed Carter.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Hero

Reese awoke a little later, sitting in a black leather chair behind the Board Room table where several men were sitting. His hands and feet were tightly bound with Zip-Ties. Looking around the room, he could see the table full of food but no one eating. The men's facial expressions disclosed their uncertainty about what was transpiring.

Avery Dodson sat at the head of the table also bound but gagged as well. His clothes were disheveled, and his face was battered and bloody. The men continued their heated discussion. All were blaming each other for something.

"Oh good, so you're awake now," the man across from Reese stated as he noticed John's eyes had fluttered open. He was young and wore a bright red tie.

John turned toward his voice. His head hurt. He must have hit it on the floor when he fell.

"You can help yourself," another man announced, getting up to go toward where John was sitting. This shareholder was older and round along his midsection. His lean face didn't match the corpulence of his body John thought.

"Only the five of us knew of our plans," the fat man spat, spraying John with his saliva as he spoke.

John turned his eyes to glare at the fat man and asked, "What's your point?"

He felt the blow to the back of his head as another man came up from behind him and sat down to join the other men at the table. John noticed that he was the Louis Vuitton man who had tasered him.

"My point is that only five of us knew, so one in this room talked," the fat man shouted.

John closed his eyes in an effort to slow the thumping of his head.

"And we're not leaving until you tell us who hired you to interfere with our plans," the Louis Vuitton man continued.

John kept his eyes closed and remained silent.

Another man who sat closest to Dodson got up from his seated position and put a gun to Dodson's head. "You might as well talk. We're going to kill our fine friend here anyway, so right now it comes down to whether or not you want to help yourself."

John opened his eyes to see how Dodson had responded to the threat. He could see in Dodson's eyes the extreme fear he was feeling. John had seen that expression numerous times in his CIA missions. Even though he had been hired and trained by the CIA to be a killing machine, he had never been able to sleep a night without seeing their horrified faces in his haunting nightmares.

"Which one of us hired you?" the Louis Vuitton man shouted into Reese's face.

John remained unshaken.

"If it wasn't one of us who hired you, then, how did you know Dodson was in trouble?" a man who could be a double for the 1980's Dennis Farina during his stint in Crime Story yelled out after taking a long drink of wine from his glass. Emptying the glass, the Dennis Farina double continued, "We don't care about you. We just want to know which one of us can't be trusted anymore!"

"You gentlemen have found yourselves in quite a predicament now haven't you?" Reese mockingly stated. The next moment he found himself in the floor with blood dripping down his face. He had wanted to be knocked to the floor so he could more covertly get the Zip-Ties off his wrists and ankles, but he had hoped the blow wouldn't be so painful.

The men startled as they heard a police siren outside. "Get them into the backroom and clean up any evidence of this situation," the Louis Vuitton man ordered. Several of the men got up and started cleaning up the mess while the others grabbed Dodson and dragged him to the backroom. Reese used this moment to go to the cuff of his pants that Finch had altered that morning. Pulling the grey thread, he was able to rip a large piece from his pants. As the men dragged him to his feet, he flipped the thread onto a butter plate on the table.

He struggled against their force then felt the lightning bolt again. The next thing he was cognizant of was hearing Joss through the door. He didn't know if he had fallen or if he had been pushed, but he lay too far from anything that could be used to get himself free of the Zip-Ties or to get her attention. As he began struggling to get to his feet to head toward her voice, he felt a shoe against his shoulder pushing him back down onto the concrete floor. The shoe then positioned itself onto the back of his head. Reese then stopped moving, straining to hear the conversation in the other room.

"Gentlemen, I'm Detective Carter of the NYPD," Joss announced. "These are my associates Fusco and Finch."

The Louis Vuitton man had let them into the building and had led them to the board room where the other men—except for Red-Tie— were sitting at the table, looking up innocently at her as if they were in the middle of a meeting.

"What is this about?" the fat man asked. "We're trying to have a Shareholders Meeting." He took a bite of his cold steak that had lain on his plate for quite some time now, losing its temperature and freshness as the group dealt with Dodson and the mysterious man hired to help him. He smiled as he moved the meat around in his mouth. The other men took note of the fat man's actions and began cutting up their steaks and taking small bites of their cold baked potatoes and broccoli florets.

"We've had a call from a Jeannine Hammond of Maryland who says her husband has not returned home. He had an appointment here this afternoon."

Finch stood behind Carter and Fusco. They waited for the men to respond.

"Detectives, we're a group of shareholders for this company and certainly don't know anything about a John Hammond who was here today," the Louis Vuitton man said.

"Looks like you have some missing shareholders," Carter said as she nodded toward Dodson's and Red-Tie's two empty dinner places.

"Yes, we have several absent members, detective," the fat man answered. "Matters like that certainly shouldn't concern you."

"Just checking," Fusco groused.

Finch looked down at the table. The grey thread from John's pants on the table beckoned him. Stepping from behind Carter and Fusco and walking up to the table, Finch reached out and picked up the wine bottle. "Romane Conti," Finch said as he brought the bottle to his nose. "Smell those spices and flowers. Someone here has fine tastes in wine." Finch put the bottle back on the table and snatched up the thread.

"Detectives, I'm sure you have more to do than to go around inspecting people's wine bottles," the fat man said. "If we see the man you're looking for, we'll make sure he notifies his wife."

From inside the backroom, Reese was beginning to lose hope that they would be able to find him. Wriggling against his restraints, he felt the shoe go up under his shoulder and flip him over to his back. The shoe then pressed down on Reese's neck. The pressure from the shoe made it harder for him to breathe. Moving his eyes so he could look at whoever had him incapacitated, he saw the young man with the bright red tie bring up his finger to his lips to instruct Reese to be quiet. Reese realized that there were no options for him at that moment, so he remained still and quiet.

Finch turned to go back to where Carter and Fusco were standing. He gave Carter the expression that he didn't know what to do at that moment.

"Okay, gentlemen. Have a nice rest of your evening," Carter said. "Be sure and call me if you find out where Mr. Hammond is." Carter stepped forward and placed her card on the table.

Fusco nodded at the men as he nervously glanced around the room. "Come on, let's go call the wife and tell her that he's not here."

The Louis Vuitton man led them back to the front door and locked the door behind them as he watched them walk down the sidewalk.

As Reese pulled against the restraints, he could feel the rawness of his wrists. The plastic binding had dug into his skin. They were so tight that he wasn't sure he would be able to free himself of them any time soon. He then heard the door open and watched as the light spread out onto the floor.

"They're gone. Any problems back here?" the fat man asked.

"No, Richard, no problems back here. He tried to get up, but I stopped him," the young man answered, looking down at John lying motionlessly on the floor with his foot still on John's throat.

Then the Louis Vuitton man jutted through the door. "Bring them out," he ordered.

Reese deduced that the Louis Vuitton man was the one who wanted to be in charge. He was definitely the one who was not afraid to use physical violence.

"Our hero here thought he could escape," the fat man said.

"Oh yeah, hero. Is that right?" the Louis Vuitton man asked as he pushed Red-Tie out of the way, lifted Reese to his knees, and grabbed a handful of Reese's hair so he could pull back his head and grab out of Reese's mouth the cloth napkin that was serving as a gag.

Reese took a moment to get his mouth situated then answered, "You better watch yourself Alligator Shoes or I'll tell them it was you who hired me." He smiled as he slowly spoke. Reese recognized alligator skin when he saw it but had never heard of Louis Vuitton or his pretentious, expensive shoes before.

"You wouldn't dare!" the Louis Vuitton man snorted.

Red-Tie caught Reese's words and began inching backwards.

"Was it you, Craig?" the young man asked. Truth was, Red-Tie had never been involved in such maliciousness in his life. He was a family man for God's sake. The plan to eliminate Avery Dodson was one thing, and he had reasoned he could live with it because the payoff would be so grand. But now there was a second man, a seemingly innocent man, and all this brutality made him uncomfortable. Craig was making him uncomfortable.

"Of course not!" the Louis Vuitton man shouted.

Reese started to speak again when he felt the lightning bolts against his neck. The pain was excruciating. His mind became blurry then black as he lost consciousness.

At the police cruiser, Fusco was questioning what their next move should be to get their Wonder Boy back. Not a natural leader and certainly not having the ability for analytical thought, Fusco was designed to take orders and be a follower. "Finch, you sure he's in there still and these men have him?"

"I know he's in there," Finch answered. "And I know these men have him," he added as he held up the grey thread.

"What is that?" Fusco asked, squinting his eyes to it.

"This is the grey thread I used to hem John's pants this morning."

Carter looked from the thread to the building, contemplating what to do.

"He's in there, and we need to help him get out," Finch stated.

"We can't get a search warrant, and we have no probable cause to go busting in. I don't know what to do. The longer we leave him in there, the less likely he will make it out alive," Joss worriedly responded.

"We're not going to leave him in there. We just have to figure out a way to get to him. There's also Avery Dodson needing our help. I didn't see him, so I hope we're not too late to help him as well," Finch said. The air was cold, so Finch motioned to the car for them to get in.

Carter hesitated.

Finch caught her tentativeness. "We're not leaving, just getting out of the cold wind."

Carter then got into the front seat of the police cruiser.

"What do you wanna do Carter?" Fusco asked.

"I don't know. Let me think," Joss answered. It was obvious from her tone of voice that she was beginning to get a little panicky.

"Let's keep calm. John needs us to remain calm and reason out how to get in there and help him. Okay?" Finch stated.

Joss took in a long breath. She had come to care deeply for the man she knew as John Reese. During their time together this past year, she had come to see what kind of man he was, and she loved him for that. It frightened her to think what her life would be like without him in it.

"I think I have an idea," Finch announced from the backseat.

Carter looked at him through the rearview mirror.

"Okay?" Fusco asked.

"Well, at least one that gets us quietly into the building. What we do from there has to be on you two gun-slinging law enforcement officers," Finch stated.

"Time's wasting, Harold," Carter said, "Let's hear what you got."

"Cynthia…Cynthia Greenfield," Finch said as he started typing information into his phone.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Purpose

The Louis Vuitton man, Red-Tie, and the fat man went back to the boardroom leaving John and Dodson lying in the floor still bound by their ankles and wrists. Dodson hadn't been alert in quite some time, and Reese worried that he was dead or near dead. Dragging himself over to Dodson, Reese lifted his hands to Avery's neck to try to find a pulse. "Dodson… Dodson," he whispered. He could feel Dodson's pulse and let out a relieved sigh that he hadn't yet failed his latest mission. It concerned him, though, because Dodson's pulse was weak and slow. "What the hell have they done to you?" Reese whispered.

Looking around the storage room, he needed to find something that he could use to cut through the Zip-Ties. For a store room, there was very little in storage. As he scooted around the floor, he heard footsteps coming toward the backroom then saw the light peering through the door as it opened. "Damn it," he mumbled under his breath.

It was alligator shoes, Reese noted.

"We're getting tired of waiting. I thought the culprit would give it up by now, but no one's taking responsibility for hiring you," the Louis Vuitton man said through gritted teeth.

Reese could tell that the Louis Vuitton man had lost his patience, which always put Reese at an advantage. He was much better on offense than defense.

"I'm growing a little tired myself," Reese responded.

It infuriated the Louis Vuitton man that this man they knew as John Hammond was so arrogant. "If none of the five of us hired you, then how the hell did you know that Dodson was in danger?" he yelled, grabbing Reese by his jacket and slamming him back to the floor.

The impact stung. Even though he was in pain, he was confident he could withstand any kind of beating these business men could dish out."I didn't say none of the five of you _didn't_ hire me," Reese calmly stated, forcing a smile on his face. He knew he was successfully unnerving the man in the alligator shoes, strategizing that once the man lost his cool, he was like clay in Reese's hands.

Reese's smile angered the Loius Vuitton man even more. He pulled back his leg and kicked John in the gut.

John groaned in pain and sucked in choking gasps of air. After he caught his breath, he throatily said, "Better be careful or you'll scuff up those alligator shoes." He then smiled again, taking his eyes from the man's face to the black alligator Louis Vuitton shoes.

The Louis Vuitton man pulled Reese to his feet and pushed him backwards into a chair. Reese landed in the chair with a heavy thump. Without any hesitation, the Louis Vuitton man slammed his fist into Reese's gut. He then grabbed Reese and dragged him back to the boardroom where the other men were sitting at the table drinking wine.

With alcohol in their systems, they were probably getting sloppy, Reese thought. This was a good thing. He needed them defensive and sloppy.

"Start the party without me?" Reese smugly asked.

The Louis Vuitton man then pushed Reese into the chair at the head of the boardroom table. Of them all, he appeared to be the one most concerned at this point in finding the stoolie. "You think this is a game?" he yelled into Reese's face.

Reese remained calm and smiled, looking around at the other four men to size them up. He could tell that the other men were getting nervous about how their plan was unfolding. "It was supposed to be clean and easy, wasn't it?" Reese mocked. "Nothing's ever clean or easy where I'm concerned." He watched as the men looked around at one another. Apparently they didn't have a unified plan at this point as to what to do about the situation. Reese knew he could use that to his advantage.

Without saying anything, the bald man, who had up to this point interacted very little with the others, got up and left the boardroom. He returned a few minutes later carrying a bottle of The Macallan from Dodson's stash. "We're done with you. It's late, and honestly, I never quite trusted them completely anyway. So now it comes down to how do we get rid of you, too?"

"So we're going to have a drink together?" Reese asked.

The other men looked at one another, apparently not being privy to The Macallan man's plan.

The Macallan man said nothing in response to Reese as he pulled a chair close to him. He hadn't allowed himself to feel on the defensive. It was all about control, and he believed that he could maintain his until the end.

Reese looked at him, trying to figure out how The Macallan whiskey fit into the equation.

The Macallan man saw Reese trying to deduce what was about to happen.

"Death by alcohol?" Reese finally asked. "That's quite original. I've seen and experienced just about every scenario possible, but I've never been forced to drink myself to death." Reese almost let out a laugh.

"Do you find this amusing?" asked the Dennis Farina double.

"If you only knew," Reese answered. The irony did in fact amuse him. Reese had tried for several months prior to Finch finding him and giving him a job to take himself out with alcohol, but to no avail. Reese, now having a true sense of purpose and justice, honestly believed that Finch had saved his life. He had rarely needed or even wanted to consume alcohol so he could always be on the top of his game for when Finch would tell him that they had a new number.

"Your wife—if you even have one— will be told of your body being found after a night of partying too hard in New York City with prostitutes and crack dealers. Kinky sex can explain those marks on your wrists and the taser burns. Being thrown from a moving vehicle can explain the rest of your injuries. It won't be pretty when they discover your body."

None of that frightened Reese. "Gentlemen, you completely overestimate your abilities," he softly spoke. He had been trained to maintain his calm and get himself out of even the most challenging of situations. He had gotten out of some pretty grievous situations with some of the world's most dangerous assassins. Five business men shouldn't be this hard. Zip-Ties, however, had always proved themselves more complicated than regular handcuffs for him to slip out of. But, he was confident that he would eventually.

"Gerard, get his head," The Macallan man said.

Red-Tie got up from the table and went behind Reese. Grabbing his head, Red-Tie held it steadily back for The Macallan man to pour the whiskey down Reese's throat.

Reese tried to make eye contact with Red-Tie. Of all the men, he believed Red-Tie was the best possibility of being cracked. Reese saw Red-Tie looking at the floor, unable to look at the man he was holding down to be poisoned with alcohol. "You don't have to do this," Reese softly spoke. "There's hope for you."

"Shut up!" The Macallan man shouted as he kicked Reese in his legs.

Red-Tie continued to stare down at the floor.

As The Macallan man began pouring the whiskey into Reese's mouth, he closed his throat. Choking and gagging, Reese coughed and spit until he could catch his breath.

The Macallan man punched Reese in the stomach until he gasped for air. "Swallow the next round!" he commanded. He looked at Gerard as a queue for him to lean Reese's head back some more.

Red-Tie's facial expression had changed to alarm. His face had lost most of its coloring. "I can't do this," he announced, letting loose of Reese's head.

Reese caught his eyes for a split second.

"Move out of the way you coward!" the Dennis Farina double screamed as he used his body to literally push Red-Tie away from Reese. With agitation, the Dennis Farina double roughly pulled Reese's head back.

Reese could see Red-Tie slithering backwards to the table where the other men were still seated.

The Macallan man poured another mouthful of whiskey into the back of Reese's mouth then reached up to pinch his nose to prevent Reese from trying to hold his breath. The Scotch, while smooth going down his throat, burned his empty stomach. The two men continued pouring the whiskey into Reese, stopping only to wait for the alcohol to drain down Reese's throat.

As his mind began slipping into intoxication, Reese remembered the Jessie-look-a-like from their previous case. He felt confident he had done the right thing by buying her a Greyhound ticket to flee the city even though Finch had not. He thought about the ex-husband he had beaten up who swore he would never touch or come near his ex-wife again. Reese felt that justice had been served. Finch believed that the ex-wife, who had schemed to have her ex-husband killed, shouldn't be let off the hook that easily. Finch, however, dropped the subject when Reese told him to.

Then Reese's mind flipped to Finch. He had never had a friend as good and kind as Harold Finch. Then there was Joss. She was righteous and caring. He loved them both. They had done more for him in the year and a half he knew them than anyone else in his life. He hated failing them, and his escape was beginning to look less and less possible. He knew now that he truly needed their help. He had never had to rely on other people so much to help him, but with Harold and Joss, that's just what they did for one another.

Trusting that they would find a way to save him, Reese let go of his struggle against intoxication. He knew Finch well enough to believe that the grey thread would be apparent to him. He believed that Finch, above all people, would know he was being held captive in there and would devise a way to get him out of there alive. He believed Joss wouldn't give up on him until he had been saved. Those were his last thoughts before the grey in his mind turned to black.

Out in the police cruiser, Harold had made contact with Cynthia. "Mrs. Greenfield? I am sorry to have awakened you," Finch said into his cell phone as they drove to her home.

"Who is this?" Cynthia asked, trying to shake herself awake.

"You don't know me, but I am friends with John Hammond, the man you met today."

"Mr. Hammond…yes…the gentleman who had the 2:30 with Mr. Dodson today. What's this about?"

"He hasn't returned home, and his family is worried about him. We believe that he is still in the building—along with Mr. Dodson, and we believe they are both in grave danger."

"What?"

"We have good reason to believe that the shareholders who were meeting this evening were planning to kill Mr. Dodson, and John must have gotten in their way."

"Oh my God," Cynthia responded, her heart beginning to race. "What do you need for me to do?"

"We're on our way over to your place. Do you have keys?"

"Uh, yes…yes…I have keys to the front and back. How do you know where I live?"

"Facebook," Finch causally answered.

"Oh," Cynthia said in a somewhat confused tone.

"We need to get into the building as quietly as possible so we can sneak up on the men and save John and Mr. Dodson."

"Oh, okay…certainly. Should I call the police?"

"No, I'm with the police. Please trust me that this is the only way to save John and your boss."

"Okay," Cynthia said quietly.

"We'll be there shortly," Finch said as he hung up his phone.

It was nearing midnight, and Finch realized that John had been held by the men for over seven hours now. Finch listened as Carter and Fusco discussed how they should enter the building to retrieve John and Avery Dodson. They prepared themselves for an ensuing gun battle, and neither one was wearing a vest. Finch hated violence and guns but wanted to be included in their rescue plans. As they talked, Finch thought about Reese and how much he had changed during this past year and a half. At first, Reese hardly ever smiled. Now, Reese seemed settled and happy. Finch hadn't had a friend since Nathan, and he wasn't ready to lose Reese. Looking up, he saw Carter looking into her rearview mirror.

"We'll get him back, Harold," Carter said.

"I know, Joss," Finch answered, shaking his head up and down.

Carter sped toward Cynthia Greenfield's home. The rest of their journey was silent.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: This Time

Back in the boardroom, Reese had succumbed to intoxication and was leaning forward with his head practically in his lap. He was coming in and out of wakefulness. Every once in awhile, he could hear the men arguing with one another. Then, he would lose consciousness and sleep. This pattern continued. He then awakened to hear The Macallan man making plans to take him out of there. Even though quite incapacitated, he knew he needed to use his remaining energy to fight against them.

"Cut the Zip-Ties from his ankles so we can get him to the car without raising the attention of anyone who happens to be out there," The Macallan man ordered. The Dennis Farina double took a steak knife off the table and cut through the ties. Reese's legs barely moved from their current position.

The Macallan bottle had some left in it. The Macallan man poured the remainder in a few glasses and watched to see who would lean forward to pick up a glass to toast with him. The Dennis Farina double and the Louis Vuitton man grabbed the glasses. "Gentlemen," The Macallan man toasted, "Here's to modifications of plans. Here's to our wealth. Here's to finally ridding this company of Avery Dodson."

Red-Tie felt guilty. Avery Dodson was a good man. It was at this moment that he realized how convoluted their plans were to kill this good and decent man just to take his company from him. They had spent months, the five of them, scheming and conspiring. It was all about the money. How could he have allowed himself to do this? And now, another man was about to be killed. When had he crossed the line to be a part of something so heinous? "Let's get out of here," he said softly. "I don't want to be a part of this any more."

"I believe it's too damn late for that," the Dennis Farina double laughed.

Red-Tie looked at the other men as he said, "Let's just get out of here."

"Cut the ties off his wrists," The Macallan man ordered as he pulled up Reese's sagging torso.

"I don't think that's a good idea," the Dennis Farina double stated.

While the Macallan man and the Dennis Farina double argued about whether or not to cut the Zip-Ties from Reese's wrists, Red-Tie walked over to the table and retrieved another steak knife.

He carefully pulled the ties out of Reese's flesh and cut them away from his wrists. The Dennis Farina double showed his obvious disdain for Red-Tie's actions, but both he and The Macallan man ignored him.

"What? Do you think this man could possibly have any fight left in him?" The Macallan man laughed.

Blood from the wrist wounds had saturated the cuffs of Reese's shirt. "Poor bastard," Red-Tie stated.

"Just grab his legs!" The Macallan man shouted.

"Never mind," the Dennis Farina double barked, pushing Red-Tie away from Reese. He and The Macallan man grabbed Reese and began heading to the door. "You all get Dodson. We'll put them both in the car. They can have their accidents together."

They struggled with Reese as he awkwardly tried to fight against them. The Dennis Farina double dropped Reese's legs and slammed his fist into Reese's face. He was afraid a punch in the gut would result in Reese losing the alcohol that remained in his stomach. The ricochet caused The Macallan man to stumble and drop Reese's torso to the floor.

This infuriated The Macallan man, who got to his feet and began kicking Reese in his back.

Reese could feel the impact of the blows to his back, but he was not cognizant of the pain. He couldn't figure out why he wasn't feeling any pain any longer. He rolled in an attempt to get away from the sharp toe of The Macallan man's Lucchese calf-length pony boots.

The Dennis Farina double could see the other men coming with the unconscious Dodson.

They paused when they saw The Macallan man having lost control and continually kicking at the man they had captured. Dropping Dodson in the floor, they went to The Macallan man to try and subdue him. "This needs to look like a car crash not a beat down!" the fat man yelled, grabbing The Macallan man by his arms and holding them behind his back until he could regain composure.

From outside the front doors, Carter and Fusco could see the men down in the hallway scuffling and yelling at one another. One was screaming for another to get control. Then they were quiet for a few moments, and Carter could see them turning toward the front doors. The three jumped back. "They're coming! We need to get back and see if they have John and Dodson with them," Carter instructed. The three moved quickly to their vehicle, which was parked a little ways down the street.

Reese could feel the men pulling him to his feet. His head was swirling, causing his stomach to lurch. He felt the sudden urge to vomit and decided not to hold back to rid his stomach of any Scotch that hadn't yet been absorbed in his blood stream. His stomach maintained, though, even though he felt quite sick.

Carter, Fusco, and Finch saw the men emerge from the building holding Dodson as if they were helping a handicapped friend to his car. They gingerly put him in the back seat and shut the door. Several other men came out of the building carrying Reese as if he were a drunken fraternity brother. To an unsuspecting passerby, the men seemed caring and helpful.

"Let's go now, Carter!" Fusco shrieked.

"Let's make sure they're all accounted for so we can see what we're up against!" Carter answered. "John's alive…he's alive…but we don't know what they're planning to do…where they're trying to take them."

Within moments, the Louis Vuitton man and The Macallan man got into the front seat of the vehicle Reese and Dodson were in. The other three men got into the vehicle of the car parked behind it.

"Fusco, you take down the three. Finch and I will get John and Dodson," Carter instructed. "Wait for us to pull in front of the car to stop them from leaving."

Carter pulled out and headed to the lead car carrying Reese and Dodson.

The Macallan man, sitting in the passenger side, caught sight of Carter's cruiser as she approached its side. "Go!" he yelled. The Louis Vuitton man bore down on the gas pedal and swerved past Carter, knocking into the front fender of the cruiser.

Fusco ran in front of the second car carrying three of the men and leveled his gun on the driver. "Get out and down on the ground!" he yelled at the men. Red-Tie, who was sitting in the backseat, was the first to get out and lie face down on the cold, wet sidewalk. The fat man and the Dennis Farina double accepted their fate and followed suit. Fusco called for backup to bring a cruiser to take the three men into custody.

Carter and Finch were well out of sight by that time.

The roads were wet and cold with patches of leftover snow that hadn't yet been removed. "Where the hell could they possibly be heading?" Carter yelled.

Finch new she expected no answer. He was frightened…and was certainly too afraid to analyze the situation for an answer.

The Macallan man yelled, "How the hell are they on to us?" The two men continued to argue.

Reese could hear the two men yelling over the squealing of the car's tires.

"We're looking at life for two counts of attempted murder, conspiracy, and whatever the hell else they want to throw at us!" the Louis Vuitton man shouted.

"Keep driving! We'll have to out run them!" The Macallan man retorted.

The Louis Vuitton man gripped the steering wheel and pushed his foot harder on the gas pedal as he saw The Macallan man look back at their captives sprawled out in the backseat. Both appeared to be unconscious. "The only way we're going to get out of this is to toss them out and hope the cops stop to retrieve them."

The Macallan man responded, "But they'll know who we are. You know Richard, Gerard, and Thomas will cop a plea!"

"We'll go on the lamb. We can be in Mexico before they're able to send out an APB. It's all we got, Phil!" the Louis Vuitton man shouted.

Within the moment, The Macallan man jumped into the back seat and grabbed the door handle closest to Dodson because Reese was propped against the handle of his door. Without a second thought, he pushed Dodson out the door.

Dodson's body bounced onto the pavement.

Carter had to swerve to keep from running over what was being thrown out of the car she was chasing. It took her a moment to comprehend that it was a human being. "Oh my God, John!" she yelled.

"Leave me with whoever that was and keep following the car to save the other!" Finch shouted.

Carter knew that Finch's plan was for the best. She pulled over beside the spot where the body had landed on the road. She wanted to verbalize that she hoped it was Dodson and not Reese, but she knew that such words would sound insensitive. She swerved back into the lane and began trying to catch up to the car.

Finch cautiously approached the still body lying on the side of the road. He exhaled as he saw the man's blue suit and small, scarlet bloody form. It was Dodson. He reached up and felt for a pulse. There was none. Avery Dodson was cold. With his lean body composition, he had probably been dead for a little over an hour.

Carter worked hard to catch up to the car. Hearing her phone ring, though, she carefully drew it to her ear when seeing that the number was Finch's.

"John's still in the car," Finch said.

Joss breathed in heavily and felt a surge of endorphins take over as she worked hard to catch up to the car.

"I'm coming, John. Hang in there. Okay? Just hang in there." In the next instance she saw the car swerve and then jerk back into its lane. "What the hell?" she mumbled.

John had roused enough to chop The Macallan man across his larynx.

The sudden movement and The Macallan man's inability to catch his breath caught the Louis Vuitton man off guard. He had turned around to see what was happening in the backseat only to about lose control of the car. Jerking it back into the lane, he saw his friend slumped against the door.

John grabbed The Macallan man's gun and held it against the Louis Vuitton man's temple. "Pull this damn car over," John slurred.

When the car had slowed down significantly, John grabbed the door handle and dove out the door, hitting a pile of dirty snow that had been plowed into a heap.

Almost catching up to the car, Carter saw a form dive out of the car.

Once the form was out, the car squealed as it quickly sped up to continue running away from the police cruiser. Its back door continued to swing open.

Reese lay on his stomach on the snow heap and shot at the car's tires. The bullets hit the trunk, and the car continued picking up its speed until it had quite a distance from Reese and the police cruiser that had stopped beside him.

The impact of the snow heap on John's gut felt like a punch from a wrecking ball. He was still quite intoxicated. In the blur, he thought he heard his name being called. Then, he felt someone pulling at his shoulders to turn him over onto his back. He tried to fight against the hands that were pulling him.

"John…John! It's me, Joss! John!" Carter screamed. His face was bloody and bruised, and his grey suit was tousled and torn.

John managed to get his eyes cracked open slightly. He could feel the dried blood on the side of his face and wrists, and his body ached intensely from the tasering, the punches, and the impact of it hitting the hard pile of snow.

Joss's instinct took over, and she scooped him up in her arms and held on to him tightly. She could smell the whiskey when she brought him closer to her. "You been drinking?"

John smiled broadly and responded, "Something like that." In the next instance, he gave in to the darkness.

Joss could feel him slump against her body. She felt for his pulse, which continued to beat. She then pulled him in closer, not wanting to let him go. She knew they had cut this one a little too closely. One day, she thought, she probably wouldn't be able to get to him in time. But this time, she cried, he was still alive. She felt him breathing against her neck. Stroking the back of his head, she whispered to him, "Come on, let's get you home so we can clean you up." She held onto him for a few more moments. The warmth of his body relieved her of the fears she had had. The men still in the get-away car would get theirs sooner or later, she thought. Right now she knew she needed to be with John.

John opened his eyes again and got to his feet at her physical insistence, leaning heavily on Joss's shoulders. His legs were weak and uncooperative. He struggled getting into the backseat then slid head first across the rough pleather seat until most of his body was enclosed in the car.

Joss went to the other side to pull him from his shoulders the rest of the way in. She saw him crack his eyes open momentarily to look up at her and offer a small smile.

"Thanks, Joss," he mumbled. "You're like my guardian angel." He pulled up at his eyebrows to try and get his eyes open again. His eyes were uncooperative, too. "I knew you wouldn't give up."

Carter saw him struggling. She had to smile at him calling her a Guardian Angel as he had been called the same by her colleagues when they first met. "It's okay, John. Rest for now. Okay? I'm going to take you home," she said as she went back around to the other side of the car and closed the door behind him. She got back into the driver's seat and turned the cruiser around to head back to Finch. Picking up her cell phone, she dialed Finch. "Where are you?"

"On the opposite side from where you left me. How's John?"

"He's okay…hurt…and I think drunk…but he's alive," Carter answered. "Dodson?" she asked.

"He didn't make it."

"Oh my God, Finch. That could have been John."

"I'm aware," Finch answered.

Carter looked at John passed out across the seat. She hoped he would stay unconscious while they dealt with Dodson's death. John wouldn't take that well. He hated for people to die on his watch. He hated to fail.

As she approached Finch, she could see that an ambulance was loading Dodson. The sheet was over his body and face. She saw Finch standing across the road off in the distance. Pulling her car over, she and Finch caught eyes.

Finch moved toward her car and got in. "Where's John?"

Carter could hear the concern in his voice. "He's in the backseat. He's gonna need some medical attention and lots of time to sleep off this alcohol, but he's alive. I think they tried to poison him with whiskey."

Finch turned around and saw John sprawled out in the backseat. Even though he was bloody, Finch had seen him in worse condition. There were times that Finch truly believed that John Reese had earned the title of Wonder Boy that Fusco mockingly called him. As the car continued going back down the street toward John's apartment, Finch saw the tears that Carter allowed to flow down her face. "We got him back," Finch said as he reached out to stroke her hand.

"Yep," Carter answered, looking into her mirror at Reese's battered, sleeping form in the backseat. "We got him back…this time."

Finch nervously fiddled with the grey thread from John's pants as they sped home. He knew exactly what she meant.

The End


End file.
